Old Dr. Standish was represented by our authority as "a huge, burly,
surly, churlish old fellow, who died at an extremely advanced age in the
year 1825.
"He was as unsociable, hoggish an old curmudgeon as ever rode a stout
hack. Without a companion, save, occasionally, 'poor Tom, a Thetford
breeches maker,' 'he sat every night, for fifty years, in the chief parlor
of the Holmnook, in drinking brandy and water, and smoking a "church
warden."' Occasionally his wife, 'a quiet, inoffensive little body,' would
object to the doctor's ways, and, forgetting that she was a woman, offer
an opinion of her own.
"On such occasions, Dr. Standish thrashed her soundly with a dog-whip."
In consequence of too oft repetition of this unpleasantness, she ran away.
"Standish's mode of riding was characteristic of the man. Straight on he
went, at a lumbering, six-miles-an-hour gait, _dash, dash, dash_, through
the muddy roads, sitting loosely in his saddle, heavy and shapeless as a
bag of potatoes, looking down at his slouchy brown corduroy breeches and
clay-colored boots, the toes of which pointed in opposite directions, with
a perpetual scowl on his brow, never vouchsafing a word to a living
creature.
"'Good morning to you, doctor; 'tis a nice day,' a friendly voice would
exclaim.
"'Ugh!' Standish would grunt, while on, _dash, dash, dash!_ he rode.
"He never turned out for a wayfarer.
"A frolicsome curate, who had met old Standish, and received nothing but a
grunt in reply to his urbane greeting, arranged the following plan to make
the doctor speak.
[Illustration: MEETING OF THE DOCTOR AND THE CURATE.]
"When riding out one day, he observed Standish coming on with his usual
'_dash, dash, dash_,' and stoical look. The clerical gentleman put spurs
to his beast, and charged the man of pills and pukes at full tilt. Within
three feet of Standish's horse's nose, the young curate reined suddenly
up. The doctor's horse, as anticipated, came to a dead halt, when the
burly body of old Standish rolled into the muddy highway, going clean over
the horse's head.
"'Ugh!' grunted the doctor.
"'Good morning,' said the curate, good-humoredly.
"The doctor picked himself out of the mire, and, with a volley of
expletives 'too numerous to mention,' clambered on to his beast, and
trotted on, _dash, dash, dash!_ as though nothing had happened."
* * * * *
[Illustration: DR. CANDEE.]
The dress of the modern physician is a plain black suit, throughout, with
immaculate linen, and possibly a white cravat.
Occasionally one will "crop out" in some oddity of dress, but usually as a
medium for advertising his business. With the better portion of the
community, such monstrosities do not pass as indications of intelligence
in the exhibitor.
This engraving represents Dr. Candee, a western magnetic doctor. He was
formerly from the "nutmeg state," and is a fair specimen of the travelling
doctors who secure custom from their oddities and eccentricities of dress.